Such Great Heights
by emerald-soco
Summary: She fell into the water and into unconsciousness. Five years later, Meredith is waking up.
1. From the Bottom of a Well

-1Okay, so this was written at the end of the first episode in the 3-part saga that Grey's is currently working on, directly after Meredith falls into the water. It's my first attempt at a full-length Grey's fic, so please review and let me know if it's worth continuing! Enjoy!

**From the Bottom of a Well**

In her dream, Meredith is floating in an endless sea. She is cocooned by the water. It laps gently against her skin, pulling her deeper if she starts to rise towards the surface. It fills her lungs whenever she takes a breath. But she isn't drowning and she isn't afraid.

She feels ... peaceful. Relaxed. As if she is young again and unaware of all the ways a heart can break. As if there has never been a moment in her life when she was lost or uncertain.

Sometimes, she hears voices, or thinks she does. She can't really make out the words - they have that garbled, faraway timbre that one usually hears when just coming out of a deep sleep. It's an intrusion on her quiet little world, but she doesn't really mind because the tone is familiar, almost as soothing as the water itself.

Almost.

Mostly, she just floats. She isn't aware of doing anything to pass the time. She doesn't think of how she got there or whether she should leave. She just ... exists. She is free of responsibility, of boredom, of heartache, but it's a strange kind of freedom because she is tied down to the feeling. She can't imagine leaving such tranquility.

And then one day, without warning, the saltwater stings as it trickles down her throat and she begins to choke. The ocean around her, which has for so long been her sanctuary, turns violent as she gasps and kicks her legs furiously upward.

Breaking the surface - finally, _finally _- and gulping in a breath of fresh air, her eyes fly open. She is terrified, still sputtering, still struggling ... and alive.

XXX

At the heart of Seattle Grace, calm and dimly lit in the midst of a 3 a.m. lull, an alarm goes off in the front desk area. One of the two nurses on duty checks the screen, blinks, then picks up the phone and punches in a number. "Page the Chief," she says, trying to keep the words crisp and professional. "She's awake."


	2. Could Be Anything Part 1

-1**Could Be Anything (Part One)**

"Have you seen Grey?"

Derek knows that he is jeopardizing his entire career right now. At the site of the biggest mass casualty Seattle has seen in years, he knows looking for his girlfriend should not be his top priority. The people around him are the walking wounded, the dying, and the dead. He should be concentrating on helping as many of them as he can.

But there is a nagging little feeling in the pit of his stomach that says he should find Meredith. She's a big girl, she can take care of herself, she is just as much a professional as he is - but still. This morning she was floating at the bottom of her bathtub and now she has disappeared into this sea of despair and he just needs to know that she is coping.

"Have you seen Grey?" he asks again, grabbing a passing EMT's shoulder to get his attention.

The EMT brushes him off, barely pausing in his recitation of vitals to say, "Do I look like I'm taking names here, buddy?"

Sighing, raking a hand through his hair in frustration, Derek whirls around and scans the crowd again. He looks for her hair, tied back messily with a few strands still loose, or her tiny shoulders, braced as if to take on the world. There is no sign of her anywhere.

"Hey. Bailey." The sight of a familiar face, especially one that is always in the know, is a relief. He hurries to reach the small, strong woman's side. "Have you seen Meredith? I can't find her anywhere."

Bailey shoots him a look that lets him know just how _much _he is jeopardizing his career. "All my interns are out in this mess, doing their jobs," she informs him, and he marvels at the accusation she has wrapped into the simple sentence. "Look at all this chaos. You're not gonna find anyone."

"Great." Derek sighs again, louder this time, thoroughly annoyed - with himself and with Meredith. He hates that she's given him a reason to be this worried. "Very helpful. Thanks."

"Doctor Shepard." Her voice stops him as he moves to resume his search, and he turns back to see the understanding lighting her dark eyes. "She's a good doctor. She'll be fine out here."

He nods, trying to make himself believe it, then starts as tiny fingers wrap around his and tug. Looking down, his eyes meet the wide, expressionless gaze of the same little girl he'd seen following Meredith around earlier.

Instinctively, he knows why she has sought him out. "Hi, there," he says with forced good cheer, lowering himself down to one knee so they are eye to eye. "Are you hurt?"

The girl - ten or eleven, by his estimate, and no visible injuries - shakes her head. Still clinging to his hand, and never breaking eye contact, she tugs again, a little more urgently.

"Can you show me where Meredith is?" he asks, rising to his feet again, prepared to follow wherever she will lead.

She doesn't even hesitate - a fact he will appreciate later, when he is hyperaware of how much every second counts - and laces their fingers tight together. Despite himself, Derek squeezes back, glad to have a hand to hold. Neither of them take any notice of the carnage that surrounds them as they hurry to get to the girl they've both come to depend on.

XXX

Bailey has been a surgeon for so many years now that she forgets there was once a time when she didn't think bloody wounds and broken appendages were normal. She is the consummate professional - calm in a crisis, with a steady hand and a strong stomach, and the innate ability to care just enough.

Just enough to ensure that the patients are getting the best treatment they can, but not enough to drive her crazy when she loses one. Just enough so that her interns know she's not the raging Nazi they'd once nicknamed her, but not enough to worry when one of them disappears in the middle of the biggest local tragedy of the decade.

Except that, years of training be damned, she _is_ worried. Call it a doctor's sixth sense or a mother's instinct, but something feels _off_ about how suddenly Meredith has fallen off her radar. She knows it's silly, keeps telling herself that Meredith has just jumped in an ambulance to accompany a patient back to Seattle Grace, but she doesn't immediately go back to work after she's shooed Derek away.

She waits and watches as he is approached by a little girl with braided pigtails, furrows her brows as they have a quick conversation. And when they begin to move, Bailey curses under her breath, follows it up with a quick prayer, and follows.

When she sees Derek drop to his knees at the platform's edge and lean over the thrashing water, she begins to run.

She reaches them just as he jumps in.

XXX

Derek can vaguely hear someone - Bailey? Addison? - shouting for him to stop, to wait just one damn minute. But all he can see is Meredith's body being tossed around beneath the surf, and all he can think of is how small and pale she looked this morning when he yanked her out of the tub. How she shivered and pulled her knees up to her chest so her shoulder blades jutted out like tiny angel's wings. How angry she'd been that he hadn't let her go under.

If she isn't going to save herself, he'll do it for her. He'll spend every day for the rest of his life pulling her out of tubs and oceans and anything else she tries to lose herself in. So he dives in, gasping as the frigid water hits his skin, and swims towards her.

Reaching her is a struggle. There is debris from the ferry crash all around them, chunks of the dock and the boat and other things he doesn't want to identify. Not to mention the water is still churning from the impact and he can hardly see through the dark, swirling mess.

Nothing happens when he wraps his arms around her and tugs, and he realizes she's caught on something - a scrap of metal with jagged edges has latched onto her scrubs. His lungs are burning, his eyes stinging, but he manages to tear the material and set her free.

He hears yelling the instant he resurfaces, careful to keep Meredith's head above water as he pulls them both ashore, and he doesn't realize that it's his own voice, screaming for help. Bailey is waiting with an EMT she grabbed and together, they manage to get everyone back on dry land.

"She's unconscious," Derek reports, breathless but already scrambling to stand and assist the paramedic. "I don't know how long she was under, but she's - she's bleeding."

"Must've hit her head on the seawall on the way over," the paramedic says brusquely, and Derek wants to shake him. This isn't just some patient, damn it, it's _Meredith_ and she's bleeding and why is this guy acting like it's no big deal? "I'll put her in the bus and send her out."

"I'm going with her." Derek's eyes shoot from the EMT to Bailey, defying her to forbid him. He's relieved when she just nods her assent, but it scares him all the same. If she didn't think it was serious, she would refuse to let him go. He clambers into the ambulance and immediately starts CPR.

He tries to ignore the eerie shade of cerulean blue she has taken on. It's hard to tell where her skin ends and her scrubs begin. How long had she been underwater before he'd gotten to her? What if he was too late?

The ambulance starts up, its screaming siren rising above the chaos they're leaving behind. Bailey doesn't watch them go, turning instead to assist more of the wounded, but she listens as the sound fades away, wondering if they'll make it to the hospital on time.

She's still listening, straining her ears, when the pile of cars beneath the bridge explodes in a deafening roar.


	3. Could Be Anything Part 2

-1A quick note - if you're reading this, please review. Good, bad, ugly, whatever - a huge number of people have read this or put it on their favorite/alert lists, and only two have reviewed, and that's really not fair to me. I'd love to hear what people think and, as always, I hope you enjoy!

**Could Be Anything (Part Two)**

Cristina is stitching. Gurney after gurney of non-emergency cases roll in and she is in charge of piecing their ripped flesh back together and patting them on the back. She goes through the motions - and does a damn good job, thank you very much - but the entire time, she is so angry she could tear a few holes in someone herself.

This isn't the first time Burke has barred her from scrubbing in because of a personal issue. She should've seen it coming. They're alike, after all. If she was in his position, she would probably do the same thing. When you're in a war, you use whatever ammo you've got. But being on the receiving end of such treatment doesn't sit very well with her.

It's not fair, the way he's always holding his power above her head and trying to make her dance for it. She's not a monkey, for God's sake. And what about _him_ giving _her_ the silent treatment after she'd helped him through all those surgeries? How ridiculous was that? She knows she was right about that. And she may have told him she didn't want his forgiveness, but damn it, she deserved an apology. A marriage proposal isn't an apology.

"You're kind of ... hurting me," a man with a sizeable gash on his forehead tells her.

"Well, at least you're not dead," she reminds him, but the usual sting isn't in her words. She finishes up on him and moves on to the next stretcher, mentally compiling a list of horrible insults she can hurl at Burke later.

She's gotten up to seventeen - and they're getting more and more graphic - when the doors burst open with yet another gurney. "Put 'em over by the right," she commands without even looking, then does a double take. "Doctor Shepard...?"

He is soaked to the bone and blood-streaked, but that isn't what stops her. There's a look in his eyes she's never seen before in the confident, charming doctor - the kind of fear that comes from absolute desperation. He looks like he doesn't know what to do.

"It's Meredith," he tells her, and his voice isn't familiar either. It cracks on the second syllable, the first piece of him to break apart. More will follow, but neither of them know that yet. "She fell into the water, hit her head ... she's half drowned and not responding."

Cristina stops stitching. She might stop breathing, she's not really sure. For once, she finds herself frozen. Usually, she sees incoming cases as chances to prove herself, which is why she approaches them with such gusto. But this ... Meredith, lying cold on a stretcher... this could be the first lost opportunity Cristina's ever had to face.

XXX

His system is working.

It's a grim, devastating system - asking near-hysterical family members to study these pictures, to stare at the battered, bleeding bodies and try to identify them as Gary (who was on his way to meet some buddies for a game of touch football) or Savanna (who had an art show scheduled for this evening). But it's working. Slowly, the pictures are being labeled and the pieces put back together, for better or worse."

"Alex." George's voice, frantic - but when isn't it? - reaches him through the crowd and Alex turns away from watching a mother reunite with her seventeen year old daughter. "Alex, have you seen a little boy? He's about seven, answers to Christopher?"

"Check the board."

"The board?" Confused, George looks around, then his eyes land on Alex's masterpiece. "Is this ... are these the patients?"

"Every one we've seen so far," he confirms, trying to keep the smug grin off his face. It's been a terrible day, but he still can't help being proud of his contribution. Between that and pulling his pregnant woman out from beneath the pylon, he's starting to feel like a real doctor. "Check it out, see if you can find ... who are you looking for again?"

"Izzie?" 

Alex's head snaps up at that. George is staring, stricken, at one of the unidentified pictures, his eyes as wide as planets. "What are you talking about?" Alex demands sharply, then shoulders the other man out of the way when his explanation doesn't come quick enough. "Oh, my God. Is that her?"

George looks like he's about to be sick. The subjects of the Polaroids are hard to distinguish, the various injuries and medical equipment making it hard to see the details, but he'd recognize that blonde hair anywhere. Even matted down with blood as it is in the picture.

"That's Izzie," Alex is saying, his voice trembling as much as the finger that reaches out to brush the glossy photo. "How did I not see that? How could I not have noticed?"

"This isn't the fatality board, right? _Right_?" In a flash, George has a fistful of Alex's scrubs and is pushing the taller, stronger man up against the board in question. "Alex. Focus. Is this the fatality board, or just the ones in surgery?"

"Surgery." Being shoved has brought Alex back to himself, and he easily removes George's hands from his shirt. "These are the ones in surgery. I have to go find her."

"You? You missed her the first time," George points out combatively. "_I'll_ go."

This time it is Alex to do the pushing and George who finds his back pressed against a wall of missing people. "You have a little boy to find. I'll find her." The other intern looks unconvinced. "George. I'll find her. And then I will page you and I will tell you, face to face, that she is fine. She's going to be fine."

He's trying to convince himself as much as George, but it works. George relents - mostly because he has promised a mother he'd find her child and he intends on doing so. "Page me the minute you find her," he says urgently, then thrusts an arm out to grab Alex's as he walks away. "Alex. Promise me."

"I promise," Alex tells him, and tries to grin. "Trust me, George. She's going to be fine."

And even after he's walked away, and there is no one around him to hear, Alex keeps repeating it to himself: "She's going to be fine. She is going to be fine."

XXX

"We don't need you here, Doctor Montgomery."

That's the third time Mark has said that to her since she burst into the O.R., breathless and bewildered, but Addison still makes no move to leave. "I was paged just like you were," she replies, keeping her tone crisp and her eyes on the Chief's hands. "And I have no other emergency cases, so unless Chief here thinks I'm crowding him, I'm staying."

"How many is that?" Richard asks, ignoring their bickering as he concentrates on the procedure at hand.

"That's the fourth round, sir," Addison hastens to respond. "She's still not responding."

Seemingly in defiance of that assessment, the machines they've hooked up to Meredith's still body begin to beep - loud and fast, the kind of beeping that quickens the doctors' heartbeat as the patient's slows. Richard's eyes flash to the monitor, where everyone else has already seen the truth.

"Pressure's dropping," Richard barks out, followed by, "People, we are losing her."

His words send everyone into a flurry of motion - to get the crash cart, to send for more help, and, in Addison's case, to flee the room entirely. Derek is waiting somewhere down the hallway, having been barred from the room due to personal involvement. She needs to find him, to be sure that he hasn't collapsed from despair or exhaustion or just plain heartbreak.

She doesn't have to go very far. She nearly trips over his sprawled out legs two feet from the door. Even as it clicks shut behind her, she can hear the high-pitched, extended tone that signals a flatline and knows that he hears it, too.

Derek looks up at her, waiting for her to deliver the news, and for a second, she thinks of the day he proposed. It was a similar setup - her looking down at his expectant face, knowing she held his fate in her hands. The flashback reminds her of all the moments he and Meredith will never share, all the time she herself robbed them of when she came to Seattle. And for what, exactly? Why had she ever thought she had a right to try and recapture the man she'd lost?

When she lowers herself to the floor and wraps her arms around his neck, they are both already crying.


	4. Song Beneath the Song Part 1

-1Thanks to those of you who did review! I really do appreciate it, because obviously, who wants to write something no one's reading? Just as a side note, the chapter titles are all songs from the Grey's soundtrack, not my own invention. Enjoy!

**The Song Beneath the Song** **(Part One)**

_March 13, 2012_

Bailey is quiet when she enters the room, chart in hand, but Meredith's eyes immediately open. "Miranda?" she asks, still dazed from the drugs that have been pumping through her system. "What are you doing here? What happened to me?"

Bailey hesitates - just for an instant, but it's noticeable - before coming closer to the hospital bed. "Meredith," she begins, then breaks off abruptly. Putting her clipboard down so her hands can clasp her patient's, she squeezes as if to infuse Meredith's frail body with some of her own strength. "There was an accident. Do you remember the ferry boat crash?"

"Of course I do." Meredith bites her lip, trying to pick the details out of her foggy brain. "It was awful. There were people everywhere, screaming and bleeding. A man came out of nowhere - well, he came out of the water - and I saved him."

"Right. Okay, that's good," Bailey nods, then falls silent again.

Meredith waits. "What does the ferry boat have to do with me? I was there, I helped, I ... I fell." She goes so still that Bailey's eyes do a quick scan of the machines to be sure everything is still functioning normally. "I fell. Oh, my God. That man ... he knocked me into the water. And a little girl saw - oh, that poor little girl. She's probably so scared. Someone should find her and tell her I'm fine."

"She's been taken care of," Bailey assures. "Is that all you can remember? Nothing else?"

She tries to picture it: the split second before she went over the edge, when her arms were pinwheeling wildly and all she could think was _This is the thanks I get?_ One last glimpse of the little girl before losing balance. The shock of the water - ice cold and rough, like a slap in the face - and then ... nothing. Darkness.

"That's all," Meredith says, shrugging helplessly. "Why? What else is there? I'm okay, right?"

"Well, yes, physically speaking, you're fine. Everything's healed up nicely. It's just, well ..."

God knows Bailey has delivered worse news over the course of her career. She's informed parents that they'll be burying their child, husbands that their new brides aren't going to make it, teenagers who think they have their whole lives ahead of them that, no, that's not exactly true. In comparison, she's about to give Meredith fairly good news. But even though there hasn't been a death, she knows the girl has lost something just as precious.

"Meredith," she says, then takes a deep breath before continuing, "All of that happened five years ago."

XXX

There is no reason on Earth why Cristina's pager should be going off in the middle of the night on a Thursday. She's already done her on-call duty earlier in the week - a grueling 24 hour shift that had kicked her ass - and nothing short of Armageddon is getting her out of bed.

Of course, it could actually _be_ Armageddon out there, the tiny, niggling voice in the back of her mind says. It's the same voice that made her choose medical school, that drove her to the top of her class every semester, accompanied by the same little thrill that goes up her spine every time she's faced with a challenge. The end of the world would make for some interesting surgeries, after all.

That in mind, Cristina hops out of bed, grabs her phone, and heads to the window as she dials. What are some of the signs of an apocalypse? Eclipses? UFOs hovering over the city? Locusts?

Sadly, New York looks the same as it did yesterday. With a sigh, Cristina turns her full attention to her phone call just as someone picks up on the other end. "Seattle Grace," a receptionist chirps, and she does a double take.

"Yes, this is Cristina Yang," she tells them, turning away from the window to focus. "Someone paged me?"

"Oh, Doctor Yang! Yes, the Chief wanted to be paged as soon we could get ahold of you. Hold just one moment, I'll connect you."

Cristina's mind is racing so fast, she doesn't even have time to be pissed off at being put on hold and forced to listen to the elevator music they always play. A call from Seattle Grace can only mean one of two things.

"Cristina?"

"What happened?" she asks immediately.

The voice on the other end is unsurprised by her disregard of any small talk, and knows her well enough to reciprocate with the same speed and accuracy. "She's awake."

Cristina doesn't respond, which also comes as no surprise. She simply hangs up the phone, sets her shoulders, and reaches for her suitcase.

XXX

Alex nearly knocks Izzie over in his hurry to reach her. "Whoa!" he exclaims, his hands shooting out to steady them both. "I knew you were going to come. You're supposed to be resting."

"And Meredith is supposed to have been awake these past five years," she shoots back, fast enough so that he knows she's been formulating that argument the whole drive there. "I can rest tonight."

"You can rest now, in one of the clinic beds," he says firmly, placing one hand on the small of her back to guide her there. "They're not even letting anyone in to see her right now - trust me, I checked with Bailey and everything. She's resting, too."

Izzie sighs loudly, but lets herself be led to one of the free beds. It's nice to have someone constantly clucking over her for once, nice to not be the one worrying and baking late into the night. And her feet _do_ hurt.

"Well, how does she look, anyway? Did Bailey tell you? Did she give you any details? Oh, my God - Meredith doesn't have amnesia or anything, right? Are you just keeping me away because she won't actually know me if I visit?"

"Calm down, would you?" Alex looks concerned with the tizzy she's working herself into. "You're going to get yourself all worked up. Meredith is, in Bailey's opinion, fine. She's just ... she needs some time to process everything. I mean, five years is a big chunk of time to sleep through."

"She has missed a lot," Izzie reflects, her eyes faraway as she thinks back on how far all of them have come. It had been pretty rough for everyone when they learned of Meredith's comatose state. There'd been days when she didn't think they were ever going to recover, when they all seemed just as frozen as Meredith. "I mean, God, where will we even start? So much has happened."

"She'll pull through." He speaks confidently as he entwines their fingers, their matching wedding bands catching the light and sparkling. "She woke up, didn't she? That's the first step. And she's got all of us to help her out."

"You're right." Comforted, Izzie lets her head fall back on the pillow, the tension easing out of her shoulders. "I know you're right."

"I always am," he replies, with the same grin she fell in love with years ago, and then stands, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Now please just stay put and take care of our twins. I'll have Addison drop off a baby name book so we can settle it once and for all."

"And you'll keep me updated on Meredith?" she calls out as he leaves.

"And I'll keep you updated on Meredith," he assures her, flashing one more grin over his shoulder before disappearing out the door.

Izzie trusts him. She really, truly does. The last five years have shown her that he is one of the most loyal, caring men she's ever known. But she's been waiting for this moment far too long to sit around and wait for the details to come to her. Besides, he's working, and he could easily get sidetracked and forget to bring her more news.

So she counts to ten, then gingerly shifts her extremely pregnant body out of bed and tiptoes out of the room.


	5. End of the World Party

-1**End of the World Party**

Christopher - seven years old with tear-stained cheeks and a shallow gash across his cheek - is found in a custodial closet on the second floor. The janitor almost has a heart attack when something behind a cluster of mops moves, but he quickly recovers and guides the little boy to the waiting room.

Luckily for everyone, George is still there, inquiring after Christopher and trying to shove the mental image of Izzie's bloodied body out of his head. "Have you seen a little kid, seven years old, answers to Christopher?" he asks, over and over with the same results. No one can bring themselves to care about his missing person when they're all waiting on theirs.

"Is this who you're looking for?" the janitor - Max, a friendly older man who sometimes does magic tricks in the children's wing - interrupts, tapping George's shoulder. The boy he is piggy-backing peers shyly around Max's head, fitting the description perfectly.

George nearly faints, he is so filled with relief. "You're Christopher?" he says, just to be on the safe side, knowing that he's kept his promise.

The boy nods, a small smile working its way across his lips as he lifts a finger to his cut. "I got hurt," he tells George, the same story he has already given Max on the elevator ride. "And then I got lost. Do you know where my mom is?"

There can be no better moment than this, George realizes. It's strange how easily he has let himself forget that he's a doctor, that he has the power to heal broken things. In the wake of his father's disease, he'd been struck with a feeling of helplessness so big and dark that he'd thought it would never leave him. Now, as he speaks, he watches Christopher's face light up and he feels himself standing a little taller.

"I know _exactly _where your mom is, She's been worried about you. We all have. Let's get you a BandAid, okay?" he proposes, as Max shifts Christopher to the floor and the kid automatically steps toward George, trusting him. "And then we'll go see your mom. Hey, Max, thank you."

Max shakes his head, his blue eyes twinkling with a kindness that reminds George of his dad. "Hey, anybody would have done the same. But you're the one who can fix him."

"Yeah." He hasn't believed it in a while, but it just may be true. "I guess I am."

The sound of his beeper going off startles all of them.

XXX

"Cristina." Alex rushes up, almost knocks the woman over. "Hey, Yang, snap out of it. I'm looking for Izzie."

She hardly gives him the time of day. "Quiet. Meredith's in there."

Confused, impatient, Alex heaves a sigh and barely resists rolling his eyes. "Well, have _either_ of you seen Izzie? Cristina, it's important, she's hurt. She could -"

"She's _not _going to die," Cristina interrupts, forcefully, and it's then that he realizes her eyes haven't moved from the closed door of Trauma 1. She looks wounded enough to earn a place on his casualty board. "She can't, okay, because I haven't even told her -"

"Cristina." As he lifts his hands to take her shoulders, he realizes he's never touched her before. He's held Izzie, hugged Meredith, hell, he's even slung an arm around George's shoulders a time or two. But Cristina has always seemed so solid, so ... detached from the traumas that surround them daily. He's almost afraid to offer her any comfort now, scared that she might shatter at his fingertips. "Slow down. What happened to Meredith?"

"She drowned." Her voice is as monotonous as ever. If he weren't staring into her glassy, unfocused eyes, he wouldn't believe she was even affected. Clearing her throat, Cristina continues, "She must have lost her balance, and she went into the water at the ferry crash site, and no one knows how long she was under. There's a possibility of brain damage, physical impairment, or ... Or."

He's a doctor, too. He doesn't need it spelled out for him. As understanding dawns, Alex draws her closer. "Or she might not wake up at all," he finishes, saying the words she can't. He always thought he'd feel smug when he found something Cristina couldn't handle. He never saw this coming.

Cristina stiffens - whether because of the truth in his words or his arms around her, he can't tell. But he doesn't let go. He's known women like her before - his mother was the same way, refusing to let anyone bear witness to her weaker moments.

"Cristina," Alex says, low and soothing, the tone someone takes when approaching a wild animal that's been injured. "That's not going to happen. Meredith is stronger than most people give her credit for. You, of all people, know that. She's going to wake up."

She doesn't respond. For a minute, Alex thinks she may have slipped past the normal boundaries of shock, starts to worry that for all his triumphs today, there is nothing he do to help her.

And then he feels it, her fingers clutching at his scrubs, her arms tightening around his waist ... and a tear, hot and wet, seeping into the material. She doesn't break down, doesn't sob in his arms or break into hysterics, but it's enough. She holds on. And for once, he doesn't let go.

XXX

"You paged?"

Callie doesn't want to look up. There have been times - especially lately, she can admit that, at least to herself - when meeting George's overeager eyes has caused a similar twitch. But it's nothing compared to the dread she feels right now, up to her elbows in his best friend's blood.

"George," she begins, but it's too late. He's already looked down, recognized the body on the gurney for the same girl who bakes him cupcakes when he loses a patient and uses his toothbrush when she misplaces her own.

"Oh, my God." He surprises her by stepping forward. Even she had stumbled back a step when she came across Izzie's broken arm and crushed ribs. But George doesn't hesitate to come close and grab his friend's uninjured hand. "What happened?"

Callie reaches for his shoulder to brace him. "There was an explosion at the site, George. A couple of mechanics brought her in, they said she was trying to save their friend. She got ... she got pinned under a car."

He shrugs her hand off him, puts a foot of space between them. His eyes don't leave the gurney. "How bad is it?"

"It's ..." She falls quiet. How is it that she is always charged with giving him the worst news? She's his wife, damn it, she should be the one he goes to for comfort, not the one who feeds him lines such as "not very promising" and "the odds are slim, but they exist".

"Callie." He's still not looking at her. It makes her feel relieved, one more thing she'll try not to think about later. "How bad. Is it?"

"It's ... pretty bad," she confesses. It's like watching a heart break, seeing the understanding flickering through his eyes. "But I'll see what I can do."

"I'm staying." He says it like a challenge, like he expects her to kick him out. Since when did the sweet, silly guy she met, turned into this man who growls and glares?

"Okay," Callie says, because she doesn't want to be the bad guy anymore, and then she gets to work.

XXX

Bailey arrives back at Seattle Grace just in time for all hell to break loose - again. She's lost track of how many tragedies she's seen in her career, but she's pretty sure today's numbers might beat the total.

The first sign of distress is that Addison is cradling Derek, whose face is hidden but shoulders are shaking in the tell-tale manner of heart-wrenching sobs. Nearby, Alex and Cristina are embracing, eerily still. At the other end of the hall, George appears, his stagger resembling a soldier returning from war.

"O'Malley," Bailey calls out sharply, snapping the boy to attention. "What happened to you?"

"I'm fine," he says, waving her off. "I was with Izzie."

Alex's head snaps up. "You found her?"

"She was in surgery," he reports, drained from the experience. Izzie may have been unconscious throughout, but he supervised every stitch, every fracture being realigned, and he wants to curl up in bed and pretend it never happened. "She got caught in the explosion. She's going to pull through. She's resting."

A collective sigh of relief goes through the hall.

Then the door they're all waiting in front of clicks open.

Bailey catches a glimpse of Burke, his hand resting on Richard's shoulder as the Chief hangs his head. Her heart rises to her throat as Mark, of all people, steps out to confront them.

"I have good news and bad news," he announces. She gives him credit for the fact that he looks genuinely sorry, that for once he's not enjoying being in a position of power. "The good news is, they were able to bring her back from flat lining. They also managed to raise and stabilize her body temp, and I just finished stitching the laceration."

They wait, breath baited, but he doesn't continue.

"But?" Bailey finally prompts, losing patience.

Mark's eyes dart over to Derek, his once-best friend, then away again. He looks pained. "But ..."

"Just say it." This from Derek, who is standing up now, challenging the man who - in some crazy, almost intangible way - is responsible for sending him to Seattle, to Meredith. "Say it."

"She's in a comatose state. She may not wake up." Mark lifts his hands in the universal gesture for helplessness. "I'm sorry."


End file.
